


Only Two Things In This World Are True

by Hallianna



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gen, Old Friends, Politics, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr giveaway entry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2122158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke never wanted to be Viscountess.  She wasn't suited for it like Aveline and Guard Captain.  But now she rules a broken city and finds herself adrift, stuck somewhere between past and present and afraid she'll lose what little she has left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Two Things In This World Are True

**Author's Note:**

> Custom fic for codenamecynic, who was one of my winners for my giveaway contest on Tumblr. She asked for Hawke and Aveline talking about old times over tea and she's a Fenris fan. The fic got a little out of hand from the prompt, but cynic likes it :)

She woke covered in sweat, her mouth tasting of ash and blood.  The warm hand on her hip, the deep voice in her ear were doing nothing to push away the grey chill of old memories.

"Hawke, lie down."

She turned and met his eyes and for the briefest moment, swore she saw them flash blue.  "I should be getting up anyways.  It seems like I can't rise early enough these days.  Everyone wants something from the Viscountess."  Hawke smiled grimly.  "No rest for the wicked, love.  I think we both know that by now."

Fenris raised an eyebrow, waiting until she started to slip away before yanking her back.  "Not too wicked, I hope," he said quietly.  "I've seen too little of you of late. Come home early, Hawke."

“I can’t make any promises-”

“Make this one.  And keep it.”

This smile was genuine.  “I promise.  I will.”  His arched eyebrow made her lean in to kiss him.  “I mean it.”

Fenris squeezed her arms lightly and returned the kiss, the heat and heavy weight of his mouth making the leg she was slipping down the side of the bed stop.  She pressed against him and he took the advantage, pulling her on top of him.  One of her hands slid into his hair, the other rested on the side of his neck while he fumbled with the hem of her nightdress, and she leaned into his warmth and his touch.

His hand ghosted up her thigh and she pulled back to look at him, lust and need slackening his beautiful face.  “I really have to get moving,” she said, nothing more than an apologetic whisper.

His brow furrowed for a moment, then he opened his eyes.  “I know.  Go.  But keep your promise.”

If today was anything like the past several months, she might not be able to.  The work of the Viscountess was never ending.  But Viscountess Hawke was a new leader for a broken city and she had yet to figure out exactly how she fit into the landscape of Kirkwall now that power sat in the palm of her hand.

She wasn't Dumas, holed up in his office, too fixated on a singular issue or his runaway son.  

She wasn’t Meredith, hellbent on holding the city with an gauntleted fist and slowly going mad in a haze of lyrium.  

And she wasn’t Elthina, content to sit by while quietly letting the Templars continue their abuses.

But she couldn’t be herself anymore, either. She was no longer the Ferelden dog lord bitch or the Deep Roads ravager or even the Champion.  She was the Viscountess, ruler of an angry people and a city soaked in blood.

Death had followed Hawke around, stuck to her back and worn into the soles of her boots.  But the Viscountess was forged in death, the copper scent of blood and the rust of battle and the smoke of pyres. It trailed on the hem of her skirts and spilled out in every stroke of her quill. The utter ruination of a city long bent on destroying itself was what she’d been left.  

What solutions were there when this place tried so damned hard to throw itself off a cliff every time she turned around?

Viscountess was just a fancy term for battlemaster.  Warmongerer.  Hawk.  They all meant war and death.

Who she was now, and who she had been before, was not easy to discern.  But what stayed true was death, the feel and scent and honesty of it.

The thought plagued her, as surely as the nightmares of the explosion.  It’s why she woke to the feel of her hair on fire and the bitter taste of ash and lyrium and betrayal on her tongue.  

And it’s why she felt like she was losing a battle every day and losing Fenris, piece by piece.  

“You look like hell.”

Hawke jerked her head up and saw Aveline standing in her doorway.  She sighed and gave her old friend a tired smile as she set her quill aside.  What had she been looking over?  She didn’t even know at this point.  “And here I thought I was fooling everyone,” she replied, motioning the Guard Captain in.  “I must be losing my touch.”

Aveline scoffed gently as she crossed the floor to take the seat opposite Hawke.  "And you ought to know by now you can't fool me, Hawke."

Hawke arched an eyebrow at her but her smile broke the visage.  "That's Viscountess to you, Guard Captain."

"The Viscountess looks like she could use a break.  This Guard Captain certainly could." Aveline leaned forward to flick a lazy finger at the miniature gold globe sitting near the edge of Hawke's desk.  Hawke watched it spin for a moment and remembered Varric giving it to her before he'd left.  A promise he'd return.  A token of friendship and unspoken sentiment.

Aveline snapped her fingers and Hawke started.  "Hawke, you worry me.  Do I need to go get Fenris?"

She shook her head quickly.  "What?  Maker, no.  A break, you're right.  Come on."

Hawke led Aveline into the adjoining study and rang for tea.  The moment her back hit the overstuffed, embroidered blue chair, Hawke let out a long-suffering sigh.  "I really ought to sit in these chairs more often."

Aveline settled in the matching chair next to her, readjusted herself to keep her armor from sitting oddly, and replied, "Yes, you should.  Because if you don't start using these, I'm going to take them and put them in my house."

Hawke glared at her.  "I'd like to see you try."

"Says the Viscountess."

"Damn straight."

Both women chucked a little as the door opened and a servant brought in an elaborate tea tray.  They busied themselves fixing their cups for a few quiet moments before settling back in the chairs again.

Hawke looked at Aveline and Aveline looked at Hawke, two sets of eyes meeting over rims of far too fragile tea cups to be held in such battle-scarred hands.

Hawke wasn’t sure who actually started laughing, but she snorted into her tea, sending milky brown, scalding hot liquid sloshing onto her saucer.  She put the cup aside before she spilled the entire thing onto her dress and joined Aveline in laughing.

That was the thing about old, old friends.  Conversation didn’t happen in so many words, but in shared memories and scars and the taste of mutual devastation and hope and loss.  

They probably should have gone for whiskey instead of tea, Hawke thought as Aveline put her cup down beside Hawke’s abandoned one.  At least that would have been truer to form.  

As if she could read her friend’s mind, Aveline jerked her head at the door behind them and said, “I’ve got a bottle of decent bourbon in my desk, Hawke.”

Hawke stood and held a hand out to the Guard Captain.  “I thought you’d never ask. Tea’s not really suited for us, is it?”

Aveline hefted herself out of the chair, armor clanking, and eyed Hawke’s green dress closely.  “At least you look the part.  I’m still wearing armor after all these years.”

Hawke reached out to delicately trace a finger over the insignia on one of her pauldrons.  “At least it’s rather nice armor.”

“It is that.”

When they reached Aveline’s office and the bourbon had been poured, Aveline raised her glass and said, “A toast?”

Hawke nodded.  “To those lost, those missing, and those gone but planning to return.”

Aveline nudged her glass against Hawke’s and nodded briefly.  “Couldn’t have put it better, Hawke.”

The bourbon disappeared over the course of an hour, liquor loosening tongues enough to jostle memories of better times but no less bloody streets.  They might not have had titles then, but Hawke believed it may have been for the better.

Viscountess just didn’t suit her.  She bore the title like an anvil, like she had borne the title of Champion as a stone around her neck.  

At least Champion had meant she could carry a sword without being concerned about such paltry things as fashion and ordinances and visiting Orlesians.

“You drifted off again, Hawke,” Aveline said, a note of worry laced with warning in her voice.  

Hawke put her glass down and smiled, enjoying the bubble of warmth in her belly from the alcohol.  “Was thinking about Orlesians.”

Aveline raised an eyebrow at that, a smile turning up one side of her mouth.  “Why would you think about those buffoons?”

“They’re visiting next week.”  Hawke rubbed her forehead.  “They want to make sure we’re ‘stable’ here in poor little Kirkwall or some shit like that.”

Aveline rolled her eyes skyward.  “Says the land of backstabbing politicians, assassins, and bad fashion.  They wouldn’t know stable if it hit them over the head with a shield.”

“Oh, if only.”  Hawke waved vaguely in Aveline’s direction.  “Do you think you could do that?  The shield-bashing thing?  You’re still quite good at it, you know...for being old.”

Her friend just snorted.  “And you’re drunk.  Go home, Hawke.  Go find Fenris.”

“No need.”

Both women turned to see the elf watching them from the doorway, an amused smirk on his face.  “I came to ensure she made good on her promise,” he said as he walked into Aveline’s office.  He stopped when he got to Hawke’s chair and looked down at her.  “And she will.”

Hawke snickered, unable to stop the sound from escaping her mouth, even though the still slightly sober part of her knew it was an undignified noise for the Viscountess.  “Looks like I’m being called away on important business, Aveline,” Hawke said in as serious a tone as she could muster before she stood, staggering slightly and bumping into Fenris.

Aveline muttered something that sounded like, “Never could handle her liquor” before waving a hand at them both.  “Go on, get out of here. I’m sure the citizens of Kirkwall can manage for a few hours without their Viscountess.”

Hawke waved sloppily at Aveline, hearing the Guard Captain chuckle.  “Bye, Aveline!  Try not to kill any bad guys without me.  I do miss that.”

“Go home, Hawke.”

Once outside Aveline’s office, Fenris put a gentle hand on Hawke's shoulder, his green eyes tracking her every move as she stumbled beside him.  “Hawke,” he said quietly.

Her insides instantly turned to jelly.  He was using _that_ voice.  

It had been some time. Quite some time indeed.

She turned quickly, managing to only stagger a little, and pinned him against the wall.  “Yes, Fenris?”

One dark brow rose in question.  “We’re in a rather public place, Hawke.”

“Let them stare.”

He put a finger under her chin, smiling slightly.  “Let’s get home first before anything...untoward happens.”

“Ooo, I like it when you talk dirty.”

“Go, woman.”

“Everyone keeps telling me to go.  And hey, that’s Viscountess to you.”

Fenris inclined his head, leaned in, and whispered, “Only if you promise we can go home right now….Viscountess.”

When they were curled together in bed much, much later, Hawke thought back to that morning and winced, remembering how morbid her train of thought had been.

Shame crept into her veins - how could she forget that there were **two** things in this world that were true.  Death was inevitable, it was all around her and it would eventually come for her with a blade or a poison or an angry mob of Kirkwall citizens.

But the man sleeping beside her was as true and real and honest as any fear or memory she could conjure in the darkest hours of the night.  The only difference was that when she was lost, mired in the worst of it, he would be there to drag her back out.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
